


Hands and Knees

by Anarchyopteryx



Category: Homestuck
Genre: A2, Alternia, Ancestors, Character Study, Despair, Dolorosa - Freeform, Drabble, Gen, Mindfang - Freeform, Sadstuck, Second Person, Sexual Abuse, Short, Short Story, Slavery, Trolls, content warning, implied rape, sexual harassment from rapist, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarchyopteryx/pseuds/Anarchyopteryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick look into the mind of The Dolorosa in the days before her murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands and Knees

**Author's Note:**

> I might write more or revise stuff. Please tell me if this is problematic, I will fix it. I don't know what it's like to be a rape victim, but I tried my best to be sensitive about it. Keep in mind that not all rape victims feel this way and that The Dolorosa lost everything and everyone in addition to being kept as a slave and raped.
> 
>  
> 
> It's been forever since I wrote anything and I probably made mistakes because I finished this at 4 AM.

Senses return. The smell of salt and grime fills your nose. The head of a protruding nail is digging into your arm. You sit up and open your eyes. Dim light from a single, pale lantern lights the space beneath the ship, illuminating the place where you are kept during the day.

This is not the captain's or crew's quarters. Other slaves are still asleep nearby, dead to the world. You wish you could remain that way. You don't want to be here.

Night falls. You are allowed to go up to the decks and clean them. Sometimes you cry while you scrub. You are stuck here for the rest of life, on your hands and knees, doing the same disgusting things, over and over again.

Today is a crying day. This is fine with you. They're more likely to leave you alone when you are already miserable.

When you are left alone to perform menial tasks, your mind wanders. Sometimes to memories almost too sweet to touch.

You remember the one you found and lost. The day he pupated. The day he said his first word. The day he picked flowers for you. The day he innocently asked why his blood was a different color than yours after you pricked yourself with a sewing needle. Those times you saw him engaged in deep conversation with his matesprit. You were so happy for them. So proud of him. Your love for him was unique, it had no place in a quadrant. You taught him so much about your world and what was wrong with it. You protected him like a lusus, but you would never call yourself his lusus. You did not have words for what you were to each other. Your greatest desire was to see him prosper in ways you knew were impossible.

You were forced to watch him suffer while you stood there, stripped of your sign, feet and hands bound in chains. His matesprit was present, also slated for execution. His pain swelled to unquenchable rage in the end. You wanted to free him, but both of you were powerless. He was nearly tortured to death. The executioner's arrow may have had merciful intent.

That woman escaped, the executioner spared her. You don't know what became of her, but you know she is alive. Sometimes you fantasize about her coming to rescue you.

Familiar boots stride in front of you. You feel her psychic fingers prodding your mind. You sense that she wants you in her bed again, but you feel sick at the thought of it. You used to love sex, especially after you began to live under the radar and away from the compulsory sexuality of your society, but you can't imagine a normal encounter anymore.

She grabs your horns and brings your face close to her crotch, then forces your face upward. "You know I won't hurt you."

Yes, but she will _make you do things._

Clutching your free will, you give her the coldest, dead stare you can muster. Her perpetual smirk slides off of her face. Mindfang lets you go, and walks briskly to the other end of the ship.

You are reminded of your total loss of agency. You are nothing but a plaything to this ship captain, this criminal, this pirate. You are a pawn in her black romance.

You know her kismesis could kill you.

One day he does. He didn't know your affair was false and non-consensual. You meant nothing to her. If only he had known.

Yet, you stand still in his crosshairs.

A bright flash. A hole in your abdomen. You don't know if oblivion is terrifying or sweet, or if you will wake up on the other side and see the familiar faces you love so much.

**Author's Note:**

> The crime against The Dolorosa is canonical, and if you missed that thanks to Mindfang's flowery prose and you did not consider that her account was written from the perspective of a rapist, read it again. The Dolorosa was under mind control when she was undoing Mindfang's dress, implying any sex act was non-consensual. She also had a certain disregard for her, and didn't even name her. It was clear she was being used. If you ship Mindfang/Dolorosa, please fuck off and don't talk to me. Also, if you pay attention to the way Aranea treated Jake the last time we saw them interact, it's clear she is willing to violate people. Both versions of Mindfang/Aranea don't care about consent.


End file.
